Questioning Beliefs: Hawke
by DarkAngelLillith
Summary: The companions want to know more about Hawke.The only flaw in their plan is the person chosen to get the information.Isabela learns something about the Hawkes that no one knows and ends up with something she didn't want: a friend. mentions MHawke/Fenris
1. Step 1: Get a plan going

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Dragon Age and I make no profit from this.

**A/N:** _M/Hawke/ mage/ extremely pro-templar/ romanced Fenris_. Been a long while since I wrote anything. If there are any mistakes feel free to correct me. I'll try to fix them as soon as possible, though it'll be hard since I don't have internet at home anymore.

**A/N2:** (7/26/11) Changed Hawke's name. From Garrett Hawke to Dare Hawke. He's not what I think the usual Hawkes are, so he gets a different name. Yes, I'm nuts.

* * *

><p><strong>Questioning Beliefs: Hawke<strong>

_**Or **_

_**How Isabela found out she still had a heart**_

**Step 1: Get a plan going**

The date was nearing. It had everyone on edge and it made Varric itch with curiosity. Every year it would be the same thing. Carver would appear after ditching the Grey Wardens and the Hawke brothers would get drunk. If Carver couldn't leave, then a package would arrive – always on time – and Hawke would get drunk by himself. Leandra would pick them up, always at the same time; and then the Hawke family would disappear for a week. Bodhan wouldn't say where they went, and Varric suspected the poor guy didn't even know and was as curious as the rest of them.

When the week was over, the Hawke family appeared, as if nothing had happened. Carver would leave and Leandra would coordinate the charity work for the orphans for the next year with Sebastian. And Hawke…

The man would always return with a haunted look, a few pounds less and needing a day or two before going back into their normal routine. Never telling what happened during that week, the same week every year.

Not that they haven't tried asking. Everyone had tried over the years to know. Varric always got jokes in return and an invitation to play diamondback. Isabela received naughty remarks and free drinks. Merrill was told –rather politely given their usual conversations – that it was none of her business and telling her to go summon demons or something. Anders was usually told to shove his manifesto in unpleasant places and use his staff if he needed help with that. Aveline would be distracted by talking about the guard and asking about the new thugs in town. Sometimes they talked of Ferelden and the lives they left behind. They always ended with a toast to the departed. Sebastian, even when he doesn't ask, always gets a petition to pray for the souls of the lost, thanks for helping his mother with the charity and an offer of money, if it was needed. And Fenris…

For all the looks, gifts and flirting Hawke bestows upon him, the elf was promptly absent during the first days of his return. And when he did, the walls that had crumbled over time would have been rebuilt and the mage hate sparked anew. Once, while playing diamondback with Varric and quite a liberal amount of alcohol imbibed, the elf confessed he'd never asked, but he knew mages and it was probably some sort of ritual, a bloody one most likely.

The dwarf didn't believe that then and not now. The man had killed enough blood mages to be called a mage hunter on the streets. He'd seen with his own two eyes, during that mess with Feynriel, how he refused the temptation that made others fall. Fenris had seen it too, and while the elf's walls were easier to crumble with each year, the fact remained – to the elf – that Hawke would ask for prayers for the lost ones as drained as the magisters after their bloodiest of rituals.

This year something had to change. There were too many troubles on Hawke's shoulders that shouldn't be his concern. Carver's package arrived five days earlier. Two days after the package arrived, Leandra… Well, she was in a better place now. Hawke would go through whatever it was alone and Varric didn't like it. He arranged a secret meeting at Fenris' house – If Orzammar doesn't move, then move to Orzammar – which got the elf to do what he liked best, brood.

Plans were made; broody even participated as he absently picked on the red scarf on his wrist. They only had to wait three more days. In the meantime, they would be there for him on his loss. Their loss, as they all loved Leandra in one way or the other. They even managed to convince Fenris into visiting, which he hadn't considered until now. But the waiting… The waiting was slowly killing them.


	2. Step 2: Ask questions and act interested

**Step 2: Ask some questions and act interested**

She reached Fenris' home with no problem and let herself in as usual. This was the accorded meeting place and it seemed everyone was already waiting for her. Merrill was watering some long dead plants near the entrance. Aveline and Sebastian seemed lost in conversation with Varric. Anders was alternating between writing something and glaring at Fenris, who had a bottle of wine in hand and kept looking at the red sash sadly.

Isabela liked to think Anders was writing some impassioned love confession written in the home of his very own rival, whom just broke the heart of the man he loved. After having some hot, steamy, glistening sex with said man. But it probably was a new draft of that cursed manifesto of his. She wondered if she was the only one that saw the sparks fly whenever he and Hawke fought.

"Well, did he tell you were he goes? Think he could invite us this year?" Merrill asked happily.

There was silence. All eyes turned to her expectantly. The pirate tried to think of a lie instead of break the man's trust. Not because he was a friend – he wasn't – but because she could blackmail him if she needed to. And if she lied to people as bad as she lied to herself it was no wonder she lost the fucking relic!

"I actually have no idea," she replied, realizing that despite the long conversation, she didn't get the answers she'd been sent to seek.

"But you talked to him. Varric saw you or he said he saw you," Merril seemed disappointed.

"We talked. It just never came up," Isabela replied with a saucy smile and letting their minds wander on their own, "But I did get to touch Carver's big sword tonight."

She didn't, but she'll settle that with the boy later. If only to see if he still blushed as easily as before he became a Warden.

"Why did he let you touch it? He didn't let me when I asked," Merrill continued oblivious until she noticed the silence and everyone's eyes on her, "That was a dirty thing, wasn't it?"

"Why doesn't this surprise me?" Aveline said exasperated as she strode past her and left.

"Does that mean he won't invite us?" Merrill seemed crushed, "Guess I'll go home and unpack. Night everyone."

Anders didn't say anything. Just packed his writings and left.

It was just her, Varric, Fenris and Sebastian. Chantry boy said something about the Maker's will, but Isabela had long ago learned to tune the little saint out. Except tonight. Tonight, she needed to make him sing. Not literally, sadly. She's heard his voice was quite lovely…amongst other lovely things he had.

Isabela sauntered over to the Starkhaven prince with a teasing smile on her lips. She allowed her hand to caress his back as she walked behind him and took a seat beside him, amused at the flustered look of the little saint. She thought he might die from lack of air as she flashed him more leg than he was comfortable with. All according to plan, of course.

"I have a confession to make, _brother_," she drawled and she swore she could see the man's brain working to see if she was joking or speaking the truth.

"I thought you didn't believe in the Chantry," he told her, settling for his idea of neutrality. Even if he sounded disappointed as he spoke.

"Well, that's my confession," she gave him her best 'fuck me now' smile, "I'm… _curious_ about Chantry stuff."

Varric was oddly quiet during all of this. Isabela had a healthy respect for the dwarf. He was even better than her at reading people. A dangerous thing when one wanted to keep a secret. A good thing when one needed to say something without saying it out loud.

"Well, curiosity can be good," the dwarf told Sebastian, "You might make a convert out of Rivaini yet."

There was a snort behind her from Fenris, but Sebastian had that preachy look that said he might play along for a while.

"If the Maker has brought you to me for answers, then I shall do my best to give them to you."

She shared a victory look with Varric and began her tale.

"I had this acquaintance. A very religious one if you can believe that."

Sebastian gave her an incredulous look, but he didn't comment.

"Well, he died. There was a storm and he fell overboard. Sad, really," she said, earning another sigh from the prince, "Almost forgot all about him. Then you came along and I remembered him. For all of his belief, his probably in the Void, right?"

"Why would you think that? If he truly believed, the Maker has him on his side."

"The Chantry burns the dead. That I know. We never found the body or anything," she said managing to sound sad over it, "I was wondering if I failed him or something. Not that I care or anything, but he was sort of a good guy. He deserved better than eternal damnation."

"Cremation is a symbol," Sebastian hesitantly admitted, "Our way of showing the world and the Maker we are ready to take on Andraste's journey into His waiting arms."

"I get it. No fire means no godly hug. Poor guy must be feeling so deprived in the Void."

"If he believed and followed Andraste's words, then I am sure the Maker received him without the customary ceremonies."

"Oh, I got it! The whole burning thing is a ploy to get gold. Smart girl that Divine of yours, _Sebastian_."

Sebastian was silent for a moment, more to keep himself calmed than actual thinking of the answer. Or at least that's what she believed. She'd only seen him flare his nose like that when he was starting to lose his patience.

"The burning might be symbolic, but the funeral rites also help to ease the pain of the living. There are words you can say to mark the passing of the soul if the body needs to be left behind in a hurry or can't be recovered. Otherwise, passages from the Chant of Light are read by the sisters during the customary vigil. At the end of it, the body is burned, as you already know. The deeply religious usually fast the day of the vigil," Sebastian answered before turning those delicious eyes on her, "You could tell me his name. I could speak the words for him, if that eases your mind."

"Perhaps later," she said in dismissal, "Now, is that what you do for everyone? Or are there some special ceremonies involved for certain situations?"

Now she had the dwarf's attention and, if that itch on her neck was right, Fenris' too. Sebastian seemed slightly confused by her question, but he either thought it was part of her curiosity or he decided it was better to play along.

"Every Chantry is allowed some liberty in the way they perform their duties. If you are speaking about people with your… proclivities… the answer would be no," he told her slowly, "Children below five years old usually have two or three days of vigil before cremation. The sisters assigned to the family would take turns in reading the most important passages of the Chant without pause during all this time."

"Why would they do that?"

"Children below five are still innocents, but they are also considered too young to understand the words of Andraste. They do not truly know the Maker. The reading guides the soul in the journey into the Maker's arms. That's the only thing that comes to mind. I heard that, in Ferelden, the Chantry allows for toys to be burned with the body."

Isabela cocked her head, trying her best to sound truly captivated in what appeared a total waste of her time.

"Huh. So everyone is really welcomed into the Maker's side. I thought murderers, thieves, mages and suicides would get something different," She settled comfortably in her chair, smiling in satisfaction as Sebastian's eyes widened when her dress rode even higher.

"Sort of intriguing how we _truly _are the same at the end of it all."

Varric raised his eyebrow slightly at the sarcasm she accidentally let out, but didn't comment. Sebastian, bless his naïve little preachy heart, just shrugged.

"The Chantry won't turn away a family in mourning. The Chant says the Maker condemns the people that draw the blood of the innocent with the intent to harm, deceive or appropriate what is not theirs. I'm afraid no amount of gold, praying or reading will change that. As for mages…. Well, it's complicated."

"How so?" the low voice came from behind her and Isabela had to hold herself to not look at the speaker. Fenris might try to fight whatever he was feeling, but he was horrible at keeping his feelings known. Well to everyone else but himself… and Hawke.

"Circle mages have accepted the Maker. They know the words and laws of his bride, Andraste. In doing this, Circle mages have gained the salvation of their souls. Apostates either do not know the Maker and the words of Andraste or they have forsaken both. They are nothing more than an open doorway for demons into this world. They shall find no rest in life or the Beyond. Maleficarum are abominations and, as such, have willingly wandered into the Void and their souls are nothing more than food for the demon they bartered with. I guess… apostates are true lost souls."

There was silence. An uncomfortable one as his words resonated through the dusty mansion. All eyes on him. Sebastian coughed loudly and hurried to say his goodbyes. Perhaps he felt the killing intent rising in the room. Most of it coming from the elf behind her. Isabela almost wished to see that fisting trick, but she was sure Hawke would somehow blame himself if Sebastian appeared dead in a ditch somewhere.

She watched as the man left. Feeling a small amount of pity for the man who so blindly followed his faith which was squashed quickly by a terrifying wave of protectiveness towards Hawke. The emotion almost made her tremble physically in an unpleasant way. She had to find that relic as soon as possible and get the hell away from Hawke and Kirkwall.

Thinking of the man brought back the entire evening to her mind again. Hawke's strange yearly disappearances suddenly explained in a horrifying thought. His own self imposed penance. Carver's mysterious package was probably a toy. Instead of birthdays they made vigils. Must have gotten in his mind that if he prayed enough he could save his apostate daughter from the Void. Probably even his murdering wife.


	3. Step 3: Something happens

**Step 3: Something happens, and if it doesn't, play cards and tell everyone it was a bloody battle**

"He's trying to guide them."

"Guide who?" Varric asked, bringing her back into the present and to the decrepit mansion.

Sebastian was gone and Varric seemed to be holding Fenris' back with a placating hand. She held back the flush of embarrassment as she realized she'd spoken her thought out loud.

"Oh, nothing. Just remembering a guy that was supposed to guide this thing to someplace or another," she laughed and stood up with an exaggerated yawn, "My, but it's late, isn't it. And here I'm sober and alone. Maybe I'll swing by the Rose and remedy this problem."

"You do not fool me, Rivaini," the dwarf said and Isabela rolled her eyes and sat back down.

"Oh… Balls…"she sighed tiredly, "Look, you wanted to know what he does and where he goes and I don't know that. Alright," she confessed with a scowl on her face, "Can I go now?"

"Perhaps you did not learn the answer to those questions, but you learned something else," Fenris began, slowly pacing around the room like a caged animal, "Or am I supposed to believe you truly were curious about Chantry funerary traditions."

"What? A girl can't be curious?" she asked disinterested, "For all you know his preaching is truly working on me."

"Something is working, I'll give you that," Fenris said, touching his chin with those pointy gauntlets of his and those maddening green eyes on her, "I just do not think it's the… 'preaching'… as you call it."

Isabela relaxed on the chair, licking her lips as she allowed her eyes to rove across that lithe, prickly frame, "I'm willing to show you what's working, if you're willing to show me your undergarments."

Fenris' looked uncomfortable and the growl only added to her victory.

"I'm guessing they're red. To match that pretty thing on your wrist," she crooned, heart speeding up as the markings on the elf flickered.

Well, if she was going to die, at least she did it being fisted by a magical glowing elf.

"I'll take your reaction to mean I guessed correctly. Wait 'till I tell Hawke about it."

She watched the elf rush forward. She was out of the chair in a second, daggers swirling as she prepared to defend herself. Hopefully, Varric would intervene soon enough. Otherwise, she might truly be screwed this time. And all because she couldn't spill Hawke's secret out loud without feeling guilty.

If she died, she was haunting the Hawkes. Both of them. Her spirit would not let them have sex with anyone for as long as they lived. Served them right for making her go soft.

"Wait, elf! She's trying to distract us," Varric told the charging elf, whose glow dissipated as he stopped.

She hated Varric and his Maker damned skills. She probably owed Varric her life. Not like she was feeling very thankful right now. Fenris was breathing hard and fast. Probably trying to calm himself.

Maker this was the longest night ever…

"I'm guessing you don't want to tell us what you know because then Hawke would know you told us what he told you. Am I correct?" Varric spoke as calmly as he shuffled the cards he always kept on him.

He motioned for them to sit, as he dealt the cards.

"You are somewhat correct," she began the discussion as she grabbed her cards and plopped unceremoniously on the chair, "I truly do not know where he goes and what he does."

"And I believe you, Rivaini. Now, do you know the why," he continued, repeating the invitation to join the game to Fenris, "I've found the why is as important, if not more important, in many situations."

The elf looked confused at the pirate and the dwarf before settling back into his angry, brooding countenance and taking his cards. Isabela would've preferred if the elf wasn't present for this sort of game, but this was his home and he was, kind of, intimately involved with Hawke.

"I might know something about the why," she answered as she placed all her coppers on the table, "And I might have an idea on the things I'm not quite sure of the why."

"It involves a child," Varric continued, placing one whole silver, "Perhaps a woman, as the stories always go."

"It might involve a mother and her child," she intoned as Fenris placed five silvers, "Perhaps a wife and a daughter also."

Varric blinked at his cards and raised an eyebrow at the pirate. She answered him with an almost imperceptible nod before playing her hand.

"A story like this is better when the wife and the husband suffer adversity yet remain together because of their love. Love sells better. Don't you think, Rivaini."

The money went to Fenris.

Another round of cards and betting. Isabela seemed distracted by her cards.

"Mmm… The lovely elven maid swept off her feet by a dashing human passing through her village is a little guilty pleasure of mine. Too bad most of those stories end in tragedy. I'd pay my weight in gold if the one I'm reading now ends better than the last one I read."

" 'Tevinter Runaway'?" Varric asked with an amused smile.

Fenris seemed absorbed in his cards; though those green eyes were filled with confusion. Isabela nodded sagely, trying not to look at the elf in question, lest he realize they were talking about him.

"What a surprise! I'm reading that one as well," Varric admitted, "I'm currently rooting for the healer. He and the main character might clash all the time, but after the way that elf broke his heart, I'm hoping he steps in and steal him away."

Fenris won again, though he looked more irritated by it than happy. Another round. No betting this time.

"Maker, no, that would be dreadful. Sure, I wouldn't mind some rebound sex, maybe a threesome, but I want the elf to stand up for himself, admit his feelings and given another chance at the end. They've both suffered so much. Call me sentimental, but everyone deserves a happy ending."

"Never would've pegged you as the 'happy ending girl', Rivaini."

"Why not? People give them to me all the time and I'm willing to give them back."

Varric laughed, "Let me guess. The one you read before was 'Love in Blighted Times'. Where the man watches his daughter die by the darkspawn and has to kill his wife before the taint gets her?"

"Ugh, that's depressing. No, that's not the one," she made a face, "Heard about it enough to know to keep well away from that one. It was 'Cursed Love'. The one where the elf couldn't believe a human loved her and ended when she killed her apostate child and herself at the end leaving a note for her husband to find."

"What did the note say?" Fenris asked as he won yet another round.

Isabela didn't know if he had any idea what they were talking about or if he truly thought they were discussing books. Who knew that brooding look would be so hard to read?

"Don't remember the exact words to it. I just remember that she blamed her husband for the love she felt and the magic in their child. There was something about cleansing the world of magic or something. I just know that with a friend like Hawke, the whole anti-mage spiel made me sick."

"That's… No wonder you want a happy ending this time, Rivaini," Varric commented after a few hands played in silence.

"Yeah, but I think I'm a glutton for punishment," she sighed dramatically, "I'm reading the blighted sequel. And so are you, dwarf."

Varric shrugged, "I had no idea 'Tevinter Runaway' was a sequel. I think I'll pass on reading the first one. I get enough anti-magic speeches from broody alone."

Fenris looked more interested and Isabela wondered if it was the late hour or that Fenris actually knew what they were talking about. Hell, it was late when she was playing the game using books and there was no pretty librarian on sight.

"What if… it ends as bad as the first one?" the ex-slave asked almost hesitantly, broody countenance intact and pretty eyes firmly on his cards, and both Isabela and Varric looked at him.

Perhaps the elf had a little bit of a rogue in him after all. With a little bit of coaching, he could even be a natural. She shrugged, gave the cards to Varric and stood up.

"I'm tired, Varric. We'll finish talking literature later if you want. We could even try writing together. I've got a head full of ideas, but nothing concrete," she told the dwarf completely ignoring Fenris' question.

Varric nodded sagely and shuffled the cards once more before putting them away.

"As soon those ideas solidify, we'll talk."

She strutted out of the mansion and headed straight to the Blooming Rose. Varric stood; ready to say his goodbyes to the elf when Fenris spoke.

"I trust you had your fun talking about me as if I was not here."

"Broody, I would not dare to do so if I hadn't known that you were smart enough to get it."

"I do not know if it would have been better to not know," he admitted, picking at the red sash on his wrist.

"At least you know he's not a blood mage sacrificing people in the Wounded Coast."

"No. Instead, he has to live with the knowledge that the tragedy that fell on his family happened because of his magic. It truly spoils everything, doesn't it?"

Varric said nothing. Just rolled his eyes and left for his room in the Hanged Man. It would be dawn soon, but with Hawke gone for the week, he would have enough time to catch up on his sleep.


	4. Step 4: PROFIT!

**Step 4: PROFIT! (I mean, heart. Heart!)**

_Hours Before the Meeting at Fenris' Mansion:_

Isabela watched him drink as she pretended to drink nearby. She hated being sober, but Varric had made a pretty nice argument. If she got drunk, she would never get to know what plagued Hawke. And deep down – very, _very_, deep roads deep down – she knew Hawke was the closest thing to a friend she'd had in years. Not that he was her friend –because he wasn't – but he was close. And this uncharacteristic behavior of his worried her. Specially now after what happened with his mother.

Hawke kept downing glass after glass. She watched him carefully. She needed him drunk enough to not care about the company, but not to be completely incoherent. The more he drank, the more she allowed him to 'catch' her watching him, until she found her cue to approach. A smile, just a tiny hint, but not the frowns and tight lips she'd been receiving. She would still need to work her magic, but she was confident in her skills. _All _of her skills.

"Hawke, darling, buy a girl a drink will you? I swear the bartender has learned to ignore me," she began, taking a seat and pouting.

She kept her posture relaxed curled a strand of hair around her fingers as she hungrily gazed around the Hanged Man. Let him think she was not exactly sober and looking for company, _any_ company.

"I will, if you go back to your corner and leave me alone," knocking down another glass and asking for another refill before adding, "It's not you, Isabela. It's me. I don't find girls attractive anymore."

Fenris must've been an animal if he managed to turn Hawke away from women for the rest of his life. Too bad he only seemed to have eyes for Hawke. She wouldn't have minded a little tumble with the elf… or Hawke… or both of them together with her right in the middle writhing in passion as they both…

Hawke called the waitress again and she got her mind back on the mission. She pretended to drink the last of her glass and exchanged her glass with the empty one when he turned his eyes to a rowdy bunch on the corner. She laughed. That friendly laugh she always did around him. A little louder to keep with her drunken cover and took the glass to her lips again, before slamming it on the table.

"But that's the thing, Hawke. I'm not a girl!" she laughed harder, gaining back his attention, "I'm a woman!"

She kept laughing, watching him down the drink. Stopping him before he ordered another.

"And what do you mean by not liking them anymore? Were there any pretty ones before Fenris chained your heart?"

She went with her teasing tone. Congratulated herself when he seemed to forget all about the waitress. He shifted, she exchanged glasses. He surprised her by answering.

"Yes."

"Wait, what?"

"Yes. There were pretty ones before Fenris," he said in the tone all people use when they're lost in the past, "Well, only one."

She swallowed. Maybe this was a bad idea. She was awful at this friendly shit. What had she been thinking? She needed to leave, but she couldn't leave now without knowing the story. Balls!

"What was her name?"

Hawke paused. Isabela wondered if this was the moment she'd be asked to leave. She wished it was that moment. Instead, he told the waitress to just keep the drinks coming as fast as she could and he downed two glasses in complete silence.

She waited, almost forgetting all about her drunk cover, and actually taking a huge swig of her glass when she remembered.

"Shiala. Her name was Shiala," he spoke softly and Isabela was thankful she'd learned to read lips back when she took on her pirate ways.

The pain in his eyes was almost too much for her. How could he hide that from everyone? How come she hadn't noticed before? This blighted city was mucking all her hard earned skills.

"Let me guess? She died back in Ferelden. Running from the blight," she prompted as he downed another glass, wondering if she should make him stop before he lost all ability to speak.

Hawke slammed the glass on the table and he laughed. A horrible, sound that she'd never heard from him before. Filled with pain and guilt.

"The blight didn't kill her," he said before turning his eyes on her, "I killed her. Or my magic did," he told her and she swore she felt her heart stop.

She'd never been a pious woman, but she caught herself praying to Andraste for anything to get her out of this situation. She didn't want to hear this! She was fine thinking Hawke was one of the good guys. If she'd known she would've never listened to Varric.

"I've never told you about my daughter, have I?" The drunken question shaking her from her thoughts.

Was this Shiala his daughter? Oh, Maker, what a mess!

"No, you didn't, Hawke."

Perhaps this was Hawke's idea of changing the conversation and she'll get to hear about some dirty little encounter with and elf – Hawke was partial to elves, she knew – or some templar's daughter and a little bastard child living in Ferelden.

"She would've been nine tomorrow," he told her with a wistful, sad smile on his face, "She was beautiful with my hair and Shiala's eyes. She was so beautiful."

Isabela couldn't breathe. Once she'd heard the past tense, she knew the girl's fate. To know that Shiala was the mother placed horrible images in her head. Images fueled by Fenris' incessant comments about mages and their recent encounter with the Tevinter magister, Hadrianna. But the sight of Hawke lost in some horrible memory and –were those tears? - kept her rooted on the spot.

Maker's breath! What had Hawke done!

Something must've shown on her face, because Hawke laughed again and Isabela fought down the urge to shut him up.

"I killed her too. She was beautiful and I killed her. See, Fenris is right and magic spoils everything. My magic killed her."

"That's enough, brother!" Carver came from behind her and hauled his brother up.

"Carver! When did you get here? I thought you weren't coming," she said, standing up too and trying to find the perfect moment to disappear in the crowd.

Carver took hold of her arm. Normally, that would mean an instant ass beating. Instead, she glared at him. He had no idea how lucky he was. If only she didn't need Hawke's help in retrieving the relic – when she found it – she would've cut his balls off for this. She wasn't going soft, she was being practical. Carver glared back at her, but Hawke was too drunk to notice.

"Brother! You're here. I thought… Did you get the message?"

Carver's hand didn't release her as he turned to his brother, "I left before your message arrived. The Wardens have eyes everywhere, brother. I was… informed… about mother."

"I tried to save her, Carver. I did! I even tried to find that son of a bitch before, but nobody thought it was real," Hawke babbled, willing his brother to believe him. Absolve him.

"I know you did, brother. I was here the year it all began, remember? It's not your fault the mages abuse their powers. You did all you could. Maker's breath, brother, you were doing the guardsmen's job!" the Grey Warden replied, almost as if he was speaking to a child – which he could be with the amount of alcohol Dare drank – and Isabela wondered if Carver was possessed. The younger Hawke had always been anything except understanding, let alone with his brother.

"Let me tell you what, brother, Bodhan is outside and he'll take you to the estate. You'll sleep this over and tomorrow we'll be off. You and me. The Hawke brothers together again, if only for the week," Carver said, ushering Hawke to leave, which the man did a little unsteadily.

Once Hawke was out the bar, Carver's eyes settled on her and Isabela remembered that this man had lived all his life protecting the mages in his family. He might not get along with Hawke, but he would kill to keep his older brother safe. Now even more than ever, since they were the last two Hawkes.

"Keep away from my brother, whore, before I'm forced to destroy you."

"Better warriors have said the same thing and failed, little boy," Isabela crooned, "Besides, Hawke's a big man. I'm sure he can choose his own friends."

"Looking at you and knowing the dwarf, I'm sure my brother has no idea how to choose friends."

The argument should've ended there. She should've allowed him to leave, but she couldn't. Not without trying to get the truth from him. Carver was an asshole, but he was all she had to make sense of what Hawke said earlier. At least to know how much she'd misjudged the man she hated to admit she thought of as a friend. Not that she was admitting _that_. Because she wasn't.

"Did he really kill his wife and daughter?"

"No, he didn't," Carver said, in that tired tone that spoke of many times arguing this same topic, "Is that what he told you?"

She nodded, for once daring to show Carver she was not the stupid drunken whore she liked people to think she was. She watched with vague amusement as the Grey Warden cursed, before she sat down again and motioned him to join her.

"Look, he was fifteen. We were staying in this little village. Mother and Bethany were sick, so we had to stay a little longer than usual," Carver began in that choppy, almost hesitant way that said he'd probably never told anyone about this.

"Dare took to coming home late with this disgustingly sweet smile. He said he was in love and that she didn't care about him being an apostate. Her name was Shiala."

There was enough hate in the way he said that name to poison half the population in Kirkwall. At least it confirmed her –hopeful – suspicion that the real story was different from what Hawke's drunken ramble let out.

"She was an elf and I guess she was pretty. All I remember was her big blue eyes, that she was always sad, except when she was with Dare and that she was two years older than him."

"So he's not partial to elves, but _fully _into them," She couldn't keep her thoughts quiet.

"Andraste's big tits! It's not the blood mage, is it? Please tell me there's some decent elf girl hanging around him that I don't know."

She gave him her 'I know something you don't know' smirk, "No one new I'm afraid. But don't fret, it's not the Dalish girl either."

"Then who are you talk….," Carver's eyes bugged out and he seemed to choke on his words, "Maker, but my brother likes being miserable!"

"I agree with his tastes, so far. Even the prickly bits look hot on that body of his."

"Hold that thought right there, Isabela," Carver said before rubbing the bridge of his nose, "He hates mages and my brother is a mage. That's not healthy for either of them."

"I don't think they discussed mages' rights the other day. Unless they did it with…"

"Isabela! Don't talk about my brother and sex again, ever. Not with a man. Not with a woman. I don't need the visuals, thank you."

There was silence. Not comfortable, but not completely uncomfortable either. Isabela used the chance to order a glass of whisky. Carver seemed to be reconsidering finishing his little story.

"So, Dare likes his elves. What else?"

Carver shrugged.

"Well, eventually, mother and Bethany got better, but Dare persuaded us to stay. The village was tiny and pretty far out the way. Father thought we could use the rest. He and Shiala grew close and mother even took her under her wing and taught her how to read and write," Carver droned as fast as possible, but Isabela interrupted him again.

"I'm sensing a pattern here."

"If you're going to keep interrupting, I'll leave and let you imagine the rest," The Grey Warden said exasperated.

"I'm sure it'll be more _pleasant _if I imagined it, but do continue, Carver. You have my word that I won't interrupt again, but I ask that you'll let me touch that _big_ sword of yours as a reward. For being such a _good_ girl, my dear."

He muttered something under his breath and finished his last drink and Isabela felt herself relax. This was the Carver she knew, not the protective and understanding man that came in, but the impatient, surly boy she met three years before. He was still not completely in character, but the past had a big hold on both Hawkes during this time. Isabela couldn't imagine living a life chained like that.

"Eventually we had to leave that little town and Dare knew it. He asked Shiala to marry him and leave with him and she did. In less than three months my brother had fallen in love and married an elf girl. And they seemed happy, or at least he did," Carver's words as he continued his tale quickly took her attention.

"The next year little Muriel Hawke was born," Carver smiled sadly, "She looked like those little delicate dolls that only nobles can afford. She had Shiala's blue eyes and Dare's black hair and she was tinier than the fully human babies. Mother and father spoiled her. Me and Bethany would fight to carry her. Dare and Shiala loved showing her off. Everyone loved her. Everyone… "

Carver trailed off and Isabela's mind ran through all possibilities. Raiders, mercenaries, mage hunters, templars and even plain old sickness. But if that had been the case, Hawke wouldn't have said what he said. Perhaps it was an accident. She saw it all the time in Kirkwall. Mages that suddenly lost all control.

"She levitated her bottle when she was a year and a half. It just flew from the table and into her hands. Like her father, she would be a mage," Carver continued after a moment and Isabela remembered Hawke's words.

So the girl inherited his magic. She's too young to have such power. She loses control. Kills everyone and Hawke blames himself. He's not a blood mage that sacrificed his whole family. Problem solved. Let's bring the good whisky!

Except that didn't tell her why he would disappear every year. Balls!

"Father said that only the really powerful mages manifested this early. Bethany manifested hers when she was close to six. Dare did when he was almost two," Carver continued oblivious to her musings, "It's dangerous to have a child so powerful, but our family took precautions to the extreme, you know? Mother and father were very careful to not pass through places were the veil was weak, they recited the Chant every day and droned on us the words of Andraste even before we knew what they were telling us. Father himself set the protective spells around us to keep us as safe as magically possible. Dare, and later, Bethany were instructed every day to control their powers. They weren't allowed to use magic outside of practice or if their weapons failed them. To us, the precautions were nothing out of the ordinary. To Shiala, it was something new and frightening. I don't know if Dare saw it. I know I didn't see it. I just saw my brother doing everything he could to keep his young wife and daughter happy."

And that explained why Hawke continuously sided with the templars. And why he got along so well with Sebastian. She knew it drove the mages in their little party crazy every time he took the templar's side. Anders being the more vocal of the two. She certainly found herself annoyed at his insistence of passing by the chantry for a blessing every damned day. And here she thought he might've had a crush on Elthina.

"On her second birthday mother said she would hold a dinner to celebrate. We all left to the market to get her gifts. I think mother needed some ingredients too. I do remember I got her a dress. A little pink thing for the days we went to the Chantry and that Bethany got her an amulet with a protection charm. Dare had spent the year gathering every copper, silver and sovereign he could to get Muriel this really expensive doll. One of the dolls I told you about. He even managed to convince the artisan to make the doll's eyes blue like Muriel's. And Shiala… Shiala stayed with Muriel."

Carver paused, rubbing his eyes in a way that made Isabela suspect the boy might start crying in front of her at any moment. She found herself biting her tongue to keep from urging him to continue. Maker knows the bastard might remember his threat to stop.

Around them, the Hanged Man was as noisy as ever; but Isabela didn't notice. She was being told a secret that had haunted a man she found herself gravitating towards. The importance of the fact that she would know something the others didn't seemed to hit her like a qunari punch to the gut. This was wrong. She should not be the one listening to this. Hawke had friends – and he wasn't supposed to be her friend – that should be here. Not her. Blighted Varric and his Maker damned plans.

Carver's voice was rough and thick. Anger, loss, pain and betrayal bottled up and never managed clear for the pirate to see. It poured out of him and she found herself horrified with every word he said. Every sentence ripping her soul to shreds and making her admit that Hawke's family was important to her. That Dare Hawke was her friend. A good friend and a good man. And that he'd lost so much more than anyone in their little group could ever know.

"The bitch kissed him, told him to come home soon because they'd be waiting for him. When we came back… When we came back Shiala was hanging from the orange tree and the house was on fire. The fire was easily quenched with three mages in the family. We found Muriel's remains inside the house. Maker the smell was horrible, but you know what I will never forget? How he cradled the little body out of the ruins and cut his own wife down from the tree. It made no sense. There was no sign of looting or fighting. Just the dead and the burned house. The animals were there. Even the expensive things mother kept from her life in Kirkwall had been taken outside the house. And then we found it… Or at least Dare did on top of mother's things."

"What was it?"

"A note. A note from his dead wife telling him she had to do it. That she knew mages were soulless vessels of demons and she had to do something to regain her salvation. That it was his entire fault for making her love him. Telling him how much she despised the way he made her smile. How much she hated giving birth to a cursed monster like he. And how she would make it all better by cleansing the world from the filth she brought into the world. How she preferred death rather than one more day craving the happiness my brother worked so hard to give her. I thought I would lose my brother that night. Maker, I still have nightmares of it. Father disposed of the bodies while I stood watch. He didn't fall that night, but Maker the screams… Not that it mattered, the damage was done. She blamed him and he believed her. Still believes her, it seems. Maker knows the life we lead was because of the magic that runs in our family. And now mother…"

"I… I could say I'm sorry for all of that, but I don't think you'll believe me," Isabela said, laying a hand on top of his and doing her best to dry her tears before anyone else noticed. The last thing she needed was for people to believe she still had a heart somewhere.

Carver nodded once and stood up. Without a word, he turned to leave, stopping only when she called to him and offer to accompany him to the estate. She claimed he was too drunk to make it home safely and he accepted her offer. It was a walk made in silence. The Grey Warden and the pirate. One lost to the memories and the other lost in thought. Thankfully, the gangs left them alone that night. It was only when he stood in front of the door that she broke the silence.

"The life you lead. It sounds like a traveling Circle."

"Father loved his freedom, but I don't think he understood how dangerous it was until Dare's magic manifested. My brother could command the elements when he was two. That's… a lot of power for a kid. He wanted us to grow up to be decent people. To not abuse the skills the Maker gave us."

"Good goals for any family, I suppose. And you don't get the templars breathing down your neck all the time. Well, except for those going for the instant kill if you were found out."

Carver's jaw twitched and he glanced back at her with an unreadable look, "I've been encouraged to learn from the templars since I could wield a sword, Isabela. And ever since then father himself gave me the duty to protect my siblings from the world and…"

"To protect the world from your siblings," The pirate finished for him and he nodded.

She knew the words. Everyone knew the words.

'_To protect the mages from the world and protect the world from the mages'_

It was the reason the Circle existed in the first place. Words that had been twisted by the Order into 'protect the mages from the world and themselves'.

"Why do you think I stood guard that night?" he questioned, though he didn't seem to want her answers as he entered the estate without another word.

Isabela didn't care for formalities. Her mind was filled with the revelations of that night. The Hawke family had been nothing more than an errant mini-Circle with Carver as their templar by default.

She connected Hawke's apparent idea that he was to blame to all the times Leandra – may she rest at the Maker's side forever – thoughtlessly blamed him for the misfortunes in their lives, including the death of his sister. Add to that the many corrupt mages that seemed to be popping up with more frequency each day or the comments about the evils of magic that were slowly spreading around Kirkwall. Comments that she was sure she heard Hawke's slimy uncle repeat a few times on the Rose. On top of it all, Hawke fixated on a runaway slave abused by mages and the only two advocates in favor of mages were a blood mage and an abomination. No wonder Hawke seemed to believe the words that Shiala wrote to him were true.

And Carver. She had a hard time reconciling the angry, envious asshole with the man that spoke to her tonight. A man that cared for his brother and sister, but could not get close to either of them. Not when one day – any day – he could be called to kill them. How much of his unpleasant attitude was real and how much of it was just the front to push his remaining brother away? And why in the Void did she care?

With an irritated sigh, the pirate hurried to her destination. Fenris' mansion loomed in Hightown, like an ugly mockery of nobility everywhere. A skeleton of better economic moments and the reminder that they could disappear at any moment and leave their precious material things to rot.

Isabela hated the mansion. Well, she hated Hightown, but Fenris' mansion most of all. It reminded her of her past life. Her magnificent ship destroyed by her own hands and left to rot under the unforgiving waters near Kirkwall. She could hear the voices of her usual adventuring companions inside it and steeled herself before strutting into the mansion as if she owned the place.

After this meeting, she would do her best to forget this entire night and find the relic. She would do her best to go back to be the pirate she was before Kirkwall and Hawke. She would drink, have fun and return to the normal Isabela in no time.

When the week was over, Hawke returned to his mansion alone. Carver was already on his way to wherever the Grey Wardens were stationed at the moment and both Isabela and Aveline were waiting for him. Bickering as usual.

"Ladies, to what do I owe the pleasure of having you here?"

"Hawke, I need your help in…"

"I'm going to die! There, does that have your attention!"


End file.
